Tag Archives: Poem

Since you may never see my apartment…



…you may never know, that in my hallway my favorite wedding photo sits in a frame I found on clearance at Target for $7 and on the matting is written my absolute favorite poem by Arthur Gillom that the creative and wonderful Katie Sayer transcribed for me without asking for anything in return. (Her handwriting is INCREDIBLE, I think it’s even a font now).

poem
I want you when the shades of eve are falling
And purple shadows drift across the land ;
When sleepy birds to loving mates are calling–
I want the soothing softness of your hand.

I want you when the stars shine up above me,
And Heaven’s flooded with the bright moonlight ;
I want you with your arms and lips to love me
Throughout the wonder watches of the night.

I want you when in dreams I still remember
The ling’ring of your kisses–for old time’s sake–
With all your gentle ways , so sweetly tender.
I want you in the morning when I wake.

I want you when the day is at its noontime,
Sun-steeped and quiet , or drenched with sheets of rain ;
I want you when the roses bloom in June-time ;
I want you when the violets come again.

I want you when my soul is thrilled with passion ;
I want you when I’m weary and depressed ;
I want you when in lazy , slumberous fashion
My senses need the haven of your breast.

I want you when through field and wood I’m roaming ;
I want you when I’m standing on the shore ;
I want you when the summer birds are homing–
And when they’ve flown–I want you more and more.

I want you , dear, through every changing season ;
I want you with a tear or with a smile ;
I want you more than any rhyme or reason–
I want you, want you, want you, —all the while.
-Arthur L. Gillom

What’s your favorite poem?
xoxo,
Adora

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September 1913



What need you, being come to sense,
But fumble in a greasy till
And add the halfpence to the pence
And prayer to shivering prayer, until
You have dried the marrow from the bone;
For men were born to pray and save;
Romantic Ireland’s dead and gone,
It’s with O’Leary in the grave.

Yet they were of a different kind,
The names that stilled your childish play,
They have gone about the world like wind,
But little time had they to pray
For whom the hangman’s rope was spun,
And what, God help us, could they save?
Romantic Ireland’s dead and gone,
It’s with O’Leary in the grave.

Was it for this the wild geese spread
The grey wing upon every tide;
For this that all that blood was shed,
For this Edward Fitzgerald died,
And Robert Emmet and Wolfe Tone,
All that delirium of the brave?
Romantic Ireland’s dead and gone,
It’s with O’Leary in the grave.

Yet could we turn the years again,
And call those exiles as they were
In all their loneliness and pain,
You’d cry `Some woman’s yellow hair
Has maddened every mother’s son’:
They weighed so lightly what they gave.
But let them be, they’re dead and gone,
They’re with O’Leary in the grave.
-September 1913 by W.B. Yeats

Welcome, September.
xoxo,
Adora

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One of my favorite poems



I love this poem by E.E. Cummings. It’s so sexy and unique and makes me think of Josh everytime I read it, so I thought I’d share it with y’all.

i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones,and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the,shocking fuzz
of your electric furr,and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh….And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill
of under me you so quite new
-E.E. Cummings


What’s your favorite poem?
xoxo,
Adora

Follow on Bloglovin | Posted on by Adora Mae